


Blue Is as Gentle as You Allow It to Be

by psychadelicrose



Series: Mastar Week 2019 [2]
Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, black star is protective of kids in the foster system, foster child au, he wouldn't dare let a new kid go out without some support, makaxblackstar, mastar, mentions of drug use in the future, non-brotp mastar, talks of mental health
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:02:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19703797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychadelicrose/pseuds/psychadelicrose
Summary: Thrust into the foster system, Maka finds herself at a loss for support without her family. She’s all things angry and despondent when Black Star, a nosy boy with a penchant for kindness, takes it upon himself to cheer her up the first night she’s alone. He wouldn't dare leave a new kid alone, not after he's already found them. Together, the two of them manage to piece together a family in the cracks that quaked without one.Or, Black Star is a foster kid who's lived in the system all his life and can't stand to see another person go through the same thing alone.





	Blue Is as Gentle as You Allow It to Be

**Author's Note:**

> Mastar Week 2019, Day 2: Severed
> 
> follow @mastar-week on tumblr to see all the other amazing content the community has gifted!! im also @psychadelicrose on tumblr :>>

She felt split down the middle. An empty, incensed acceptance on one side and regret clinging to the other. Everything felt wrong. It was nearly ten, and she should be home. She wanted her bed. She wanted her room.

Never, Maka thought, had she experienced this kind of upheaval. A forced separation so jarring that it left her chest burning cold and her body shivering. Her hands felt frigid as they gripped the strap of her duffel bag. Her shoulders were stone carved days ago, too stubborn to relax. If she let them go slack, they might think she was okay with this.

So, she held onto her white knuckle grip and her marble shoulders. Vindictively, she wanted people to see how upset she was. What they had done, what a _mistake_ this was.

_(A mistake that was her fault.)_

She thought about her papa, and how the despair on his face had shredded her to pieces. _Baby, baby I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry baby—_ as he hugged her and sobbed and said _goodbye_. A social worker kept a motherly hand on her shoulder, and it felt so vile and invasive that Maka wanted to rip it off.

She had tried so hard to double back on her words, insist that she had just been angry and it wasn’t real, the abandonment or the anger that she felt. The social worker looked at her with sickening pity, so docile and sugar coated that Maka had wanted to throw up.

_“Maka, I know it’s gotten scary, but these things happen for a reason. You don’t have to go back on your word. Everything is going to improve for you so much, please just be patient and see—“_

The social worker hadn’t gotten in another word after that, because Maka had stood up in a rage and declared that she didn’t _want_ _this_ , and anybody who thought she did was delusional. She was heading out the door, tears clinging to her eyes and a glass bottle of thunder in her throat when the social worker had gently added, _“Sometimes the things that are best for us aren’t what we want.”_ As if she knew shit about what she needed.

Delusional. Nobody listened to her. If she had had a say in anything none of this would have happened because everything was fine the way it was. Papa had his women, he had his disgusting bar, and sometimes he disappeared for the night. She wasn’t helpless. She wasn’t a child. She’d be angry for the whole week after, but things kept moving. Papa was trying.

She didn’t want this.

It was fine until it wasn’t fine and a concerned teacher had decided it was their business to phone the counsellor, who phoned child services, who then phoned the social worker.

 _Unfit to parent a minor_ , they’d said. _Temporary foster placement until required improvements met._

And here she was. Sitting in her local office of child protective services (she was _laughing_ ), waiting to be picked up. A foster child in the system. She’d declined waiting in a private room, despite it being insisted upon. It was too closed off, too much theirs. She wanted her own space.

She wanted her room.

A boy entered the waiting area but she hardly noticed, too focused on the sudden sting in her eyes. Her tongue was mud, thick and useless and suffocating. The sludge filled her throat until she felt like she had to gag with her sobs, but she refused. She was still cold. She thought about finding the jacket she stuffed in her bag, but then that thought was back, and she wanted people to see her like this. She wanted somebody to just notice and take it back and listen and _see her—_

“You okay?”

Maka jolted from her thoughts. Blinking, she turned to where a boy had suddenly sat down. He was unceremonious about it, and lopped down onto the chair next to her like they were old friends. The boy leaned forward with his arms on his thighs, so his hands hung limply between his legs. His eyes were a balanced, slated blue, and then she saw how bright his hair was. It was pure vibrant and obnoxiously blue, so contrasting from the mild shade his eyes held. He had on a black hoodie and some faded jeans.

“What?” she answered dumbly. His question was slow to sink in, not quite catching until the boy repeated himself with a lift of his brows.

“I said, you okay? You look a little dead, no offense.” Stunned by his bluntness, Maka could only could only stare until her mouth caught up with her brain.

“Excuse me?” It seemed all she could do was question the strange boy. She hated the nasal quality to her voice and made sure to swallow to help it go away. Her new companion didn’t seem deterred by her tone, and only tilted his head. It made his bright blue hair fall across his forehead a little.

He shrugged and allowed himself a simpler position. Slouching against the back of his chair now, his knee was almost close enough to touch hers with how wide he was sitting.

“I dunno, bad nights are bad nights. ‘S usually on everybody's faces in some sorta way.” Maka didn’t know what she expected from him, or why she was listening to him at all, but his voice sounded more pensive than before. Then, he stunned her by softly asking, “You wanna talk about it?” His eyes were something earnest and imploring. He didn’t encroach on her space, and he didn’t act entitled to her response.

Maka pulled her bag, filled with home and family and whatever pieces of her life she could grab, and pulled it against her chest. The squish of clean clothes was somehow comforting and the weight warmed her lap. Her bag smelled like her house. Somehow, she gained enough courage to answer the boy.

“Not really,” she said softly. Having been pressed for vulnerability so often lately, she waited for the insistence.

“That’s cool. You new?”

Maka’s forehead creased, unfamiliar with how a person could be so nosy and respectful at the same time.

“What?”

“I mean like, is this your first time here?”

“Oh,” she breathed. It dawned on her that other people might not be as lucky to have this be their only time. “It. It is.” The boy nodded, seemingly satisfied with this information.

“I gatchu.” The boy wasn’t harsh, very unlike how he presented himself. But then, she wondered if he ever looked harsh in the first place. When she looked at him now, all she saw was a boy her age. Blue wasn’t a harsh color.

A not uncomfortable silence passed between them. The boy wasn’t looking at her, and she wasn’t looking at him. Somehow, it wasn’t awkward. The idle sounds of the office around them chattered, phones and soft voices and the occasional footsteps across linoleum. The general secretary behind the front desk paid them no mind.

“How long you been waiting?” the boy asked. Sparing a glance at a wall clock, Maka realized she’d been waiting since seven. If she’d been home, she would have been finishing dinner around seven. Papa might have been there too, and insisted he do the dishes. Her heart lurched painfully.

“I think it’s been two hours now,” she mused. It released with something scratchy, strained. To her side, the boy twisted up face his like he was offended. Maka’s own face wrinkled a little more subtly, remembering that this was a stranger. Her friends liked to tell her she had a talent for making friends, but she hardly thought it extended to circumstances like this. Then again, she wasn’t one to hold back, either.

“You kidding me? That’s bull,” the boy mumbled. The validation was nice, at least.

Maka looked at her shoes and nodded quietly, not finding the need to say anything else. She wondered if this was some sort of charity. If so, he was awfully kind. However, tokens of pity only rubbed her the wrong way, and she’d rather he saved it for someone else.

Just before Maka was going to let her mouth get the better of her, the boy stood up. He stretched his back, and when she assumed he would be leaving her alone, he threw a “be right back” over his shoulder. It was quick and inconsequential, and it left her puzzled.

At a loss for words, Maka watched her new companion walk towards where she thought the bathrooms might be. A minute or two passed before he emerged with two bags of chips in one hand and two drinks in the other.

The boy tossed her a bag that she barely managed to catch and returned to his spot, just as carefree as before. He tore open a bag and started on a Cheeto, paying no mind to the open shock Maka was giving off.

“Wait, I can’t take this from you, hold on—“ she started. The boy looked up, expression light, and only asked, “Why not?”

“Because, because we don’t know each other, for one! You really didn’t have to buy these for me, I can pay you back the change if you just—“

Her companion raised a brow at her, something playing on his lips that was close to bemusement. Then, he very rudely licked bright red Cheeto dust off his fingers and curled them into a fist. He held it out to her, and she began to think that this boy was much more than she thought he was.

“Black Star,” he told her. The boy grinned, and Maka thought that this had to be the most roundabout introduction ever. His request to fist bump was met with wary eyes, and he smiled wider when she pressed her knuckles against his almost worriedly.

“Are you serious?” she couldn’t help but ask. It might be rude to ask if that was a fake name, especially given where they both were, but it slipped out before she could stop it.

The boy didn’t seem to care, and instead passed her a bottle of what she now realized was chocolate milk. The condensation was wet to the touch, and she rubbed it against her shirt to make it easier to hold. Black Star unscrewed a bottle of kool aid and took one huge gulp.

 _“Oh yeah,”_ he imitated. Maka blinked slowly, willing herself to believe that this kid was fake, the chocolate milk and the goldfish he’d handed her were fake, and his shoe was definitely not touching hers. “You?” he asked after wiping his mouth. She furrowed her brows in response and replied slowly.

“Maka.”

“That’s cool. Now we know each other, eat the goldfish,” Black Star instructed her. He stole another Cheeto from his bag, completely unfettered. Maka stared down at the snack he’d placed in her hand.

“Why?” Maka found herself asking out loud. The boy blinked at her, and answered as easily as anything else.

“Told you. Bad nights are bad nights. And everybody likes goldfish, so.” He shrugged again, nonchalant, and yet she felt that this was important to him for some reason. It took her a while, but eventually Maka set the chocolate milk between her thighs and grasped the bag of goldfish.

“...Thank you,” she said to him. She opened the bag and tentatively ate a cracker. Next to her, Black Star relaxed in his seat and continued with his own snack.

“Don’t mention it,” he reassured with another grin.

They ate in silence, which wasn’t terrible. But when it was quiet, it made her think of other things. In an effort to keep her mind occupied, Maka thumbed through possible subjects in her mind and settled on one he’d already established for her.

“What about you? Are you new?” She kept her tone light, just in case he didn’t feel like answering himself. Then, the boy snorted once. Maka watched him carefully, and found it difficult to place his expression.

“Yeah, you could say that.” It was breezy, nonplussed, but the slight turn of his lip told her to look harder. She got the feeling that there was more to the story than he was letting on, but that was fine. She didn’t want to push when he hadn’t pushed her. He seemed comfortable sharing that much, and she was content with that answer.

Truth be told, she hadn't eaten since lunch that day, and it wouldn’t surprise her if it had been contributing to her spiral. The goldfish weren’t a meal, but they were nice nonetheless. The drink must helped with her blood sugar too, because she felt a little less heavy by the time she finished.

“So, you good?” the boy asked again. He was looking at her with a more pensive expression now. Black Star was leaning forward again, using his arms as support and an empty bag of Cheetos crumpled in his hand. He was gentle but didn’t dance around the subject, and she appreciated that.

Maka struggled over what to say, because she didn’t even know how to articulate her feelings. However, something key chose to pop into her head then, and she thought it was good enough.

“Do you think they’ll always treat us like we don’t know any better?”

Black Star craned his neck in surprise, like he was caught off guard by her question. It looked like it took him a second to figure what to say too, but soon enough, he took on an almost haughty look. Then, “ _Pft,_ ya.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” she told him with a withering glare. Black Star took his crumpled Cheetos bag and tossed it into a nearby trash can with little effort, not even moving from his seat.

“You got a phone?” her companion asked suddenly. He had that earnest look on his face again, the one he had when he first sat down with her.

“Why?” Even though she asked, Maka was already grabbing her phone out of her bag pocket.

Black Star took out his own phone, something cracked and black and a complete mess, and met her confusion with a charming smile. “You see, I’m pretty amazing. I know stuff. You got a problem, just lemme know. That cool with you?” He held out his phone to her like a simple offering, a peacemaker on their stormy night.

Taken aback, Maka squeezed her thighs together, shooting Black Star a puzzled look. This boy was something else. At her hesitation, her companion shook his phone between his fingers like it was bait, to which she finally asked,

“Why are you doing all this for me?”

Pursing his lips, he let show a pensive expression she hadn’t seen before. It was foreign to her because the boy had been so carefree, almost obtuse and intrusive on her space and gloomy feelings. It seemed a little wrong on his face, but not in a way that was completely off. She just got the feeling he didn’t do it that often.

Black Star breathed out slowly, but then let something proud and strong streak across his features instead. He touched shoulders with her lightly, like they were old friends. He felt sturdy.

“I’ve been there. I know others who’ve been there. This place’ll eat you alive if you don’t have people.”

Maka gave the boy her number. 


End file.
